#rofic

“Jyn -- “

His argument dies on his lips because he knows it’s true. The last time he got a good night’s sleep since Tamsye Prime had been on the flight back to Hoth, and that had been almost two weeks ago.

Rogue One’s grounded. The mission to rescue Jyn had been unsanctioned and even the heroes of Scarif couldn’t escape repercussions for their actions. Nobody had been particularly upset when they had returned home with Jyn in tow, but they could only get away with breaking Alliance rules so many times. And while it feels weird to sit around and do nothing -- he can’t remember the last time he’s relaxed -- it’s the kind of break he’s needed.

The kind of break that they’ve all needed.

So, instead of lying to her and saying that yes, he is getting enough sleep, he replies as honestly as he can muster (because trust goes both ways, right?), “No, I’m not.”

Jyn lifts her head up, studying his face. It’s easy to see through her mask now that he knows her, and as her eyes widen ever so slightly, he can tell she’s shocked by the blatant truth in his answer. She had expected him to put up a fight but he’s too tired to do anything except be honest with her.

It’s a defense mechanism -- Jyn wants him to argue with her, wants him to get exasperated and push her away because she’s hurting and doesn’t want him to feel obligated to take care of her. She’s trying to build her walls back up so it won’t sting as much when he leaves her. It pains him a little, that she thinks he will, but that’s nothing compared to what she must be feeling right now.

Cassian swallows the lump in his throat and continues, “I’m right here, okay? I’ll be here when you wake up. You can sleep now.”

Her fingers twine in his shirt, right over the spot on his shoulder where he got shot. Her breath hitches. “I’m not the only one who needs rest, Cass.”

“I’ll sleep when you do,” he promises, but they both know that’s a lie. Still, Jyn lets him pull her to his chest once more and when her eyes flutter closed, his do too.

But he doesn’t sleep. He won’t admit it to her, but he’s worried that she won’t be there when he wakes up either. That this whole conversation is the result of some drug-induced fog and when he wakes up, he’ll be in the medbay with a hole in his chest and she’ll be in a cell light years away from him.

He stays awake, just in case.

“It’s hard,” Jyn says suddenly, when it’s been quiet for so long that he almost believes she had fallen asleep. “Surviving.”

His chest pangs and he squeezes his eyes shut tight for a moment, then opens them to look down at her. She’s not looking at him, instead picking at a loose piece of thread from the collar of his shirt. His voice is rough when he agrees. “Yeah.”

“Sometimes I wish. . .” her breath catches and in the dim light of their bedroom, he thinks that maybe her eyes are a little wet. But when she blinks, they’re dry. “Sometimes I wish we would have died on that beach. I know that’s terrible, but -- “

“But we should have,” he finishes for her, since he knows what she’s going to say. She lets out a long, shuddering sigh and he thinks she’s relieved she didn’t have to say it out loud.

“We should have,” she whispers. “I think we should have.”

And Cassian understands. There’s days where he feels like he doesn’t deserve to be alive, not when so many others are dead. Yet here they are. They survived when they shouldn’t have so might as well make the best of it.

“But,” he manages, with a lightness he doesn’t feel, “if we had died, I would have only been able to hold you like this once.”

“It wasn’t holding so much as me propping you up,” Jyn says wryly. There’s a hint of laughter in her voice, but it’s not convincing. Still, it’s better than nothing.

“If we had died,” he continues with a mischievous smile, “I wouldn’t have been able to do this.” He presses a kiss to the top of her head, good arm tightening around her shoulders. “Or this,” he kisses the tip of her nose, grinning when she laughs and tries to squirm away, “or this.” His lips meet hers gently at first, but the kiss deepens when she shifts to wrap her arms around his neck and run her fingers through his hair.

They break apart a minute later, both panting. There’s a spark in Jyn’s eyes that Cassian hasn’t seen in a long time. “Sleep,” he says softly, brushing a stray piece of hair off of her cheek. “I’ve got you.”

“Only if you do too,” she replies, brushing her thumb over his cheekbone. “We’re in this together, Cassian Andor.”

“All the way, Jyn Erso,” he swears, resting his chin on the top of her head. He waits until her breathing has evened out to repeat it. “All the way.”

He doesn’t sleep, not that night. But Jyn does, and to him, that’s all that matters.